Love You to Pieces
by Demzikinz
Summary: It's been twelve years since the night Quinzelle Lloyd witnessed her old circus friend (if you could call him that), bludgeon one of his mother's lovers to death with a rock. After she discovers an article about Jerome murdering his mother , she goes to Gotham to find him. She's not ready to learn that he's died also. She's even less ready to learn that he isn't dead anymore.
1. Chapter 1

_Quinnzelle tip-toed around her parents' trailer. She could hear his sniffles from her bedroom window and wasn't surprised to find Jerome on the ground beside his trailer's front steps. The eight-year-old looked so pitiful in the light cast on him from the hanging bulbs above them. From inside the house, Nat King Cole began to croon to us. His mother only had used the old record player when she has "visitors" which always sent Jerome into a frenzy. He wouldn't be sad for long. He'd be angry soon. That's shy Quinn didn't approach him right away. She walked past him, to the snake's cage, and stuck a finger inside. Sheeba flicked her tongue out over the child's finger and then lost interest, slithering away._

 _"Two in a row tonight," Jerome finally spoke to her, letting her know it was safe to approach. "Two. In a. Row. One walked out, and the other walked in. I'll be out here all night at this pace. That dirty, rotten bitch."_

 _Quinn lowered herself down onto the ground a few feet ahead of him, looking up at the door to his left. The lot wasn't nearly as lively as normal. Everyone was in the tent for the show. Except for Jerome, who wasn't interested in being a performer, and Quinn, who wasn't quite nimble enough to be a performer, and Lyla, who began drinking in the early morning and was far too inebriated to perform by the time night came._

 _"Do you wanna take a walk? Or come over to my trailer? Ma bought puddin' cups for me this morning. I know how much you like puddin'—"_

 _"I don't want any pudding."_

 _"You're jokin'. You_ _ **always**_ _want puddin', Valeska."_

 _She didn't expect him to lunge, but he did, and if anyone were around they probably would have pried him off, but they weren't. So Quinn ended up on her back, with Jerome seated on her stomach with both hands pressed to her throat._

 _"I don't want any damn pudding, Quinn. Now, are you gonna ask me again?" His voice was as wild as his eyes, but he relaxed his hands so the girl could answer._

 _"No. Christ, no. Just get off! Holy hell!" Quinn reached up and pushed Jerome off onto the ground, before giving a clumsy roll backwards, flipping her legs over her head and coming to rest right-side-up, seated on her knees. "Keep your lid on. I'm not some damn crow whose head you just get to rip off all willy nilly!"_

 _Jerome fell quiet. His eyes were blank as he stared at her._

 _"Did I hurt you?"_

 _"Hardly."_

 _"You mad at me?"_

 _"Hardly."_

 _It was her word for when she was mad at him. For when he "lost his lid" and did something crazy or mean, and she breathed deep and remind herself that she loved her friend, but didn't want to let him know he'd upset her. Maybe because she didn't want him to feel bad. Maybe because she got the feeling he would get that crazy gleam in his eye that he got when he was torturing vermin, and that would just give her the creeps._

 _Jerome laughed now. His weird laugh that he only did when he was angry or upset. The laugh that made his mouth stretch all the way from one ear to the other, with two divots in his cheeks, like parenthesis at each end._

 _"Hardly Harley Quinnzelle, a harlequin like no one else." He sang the words. He literally sang them. Two or three times, laughing between each line, only stopping when the door to his mother's trailer swung open. Jerome didn't stop laughing as she looked up at the man in his dress pants, with a jacket slung over his arm. He didn't stop laughing as he picked up a rock Quinn was sure he had set beside the stairs on purpose. He didn't even stop laughing as he lunged at the man, knocking him off of the steps and swinging the rock down on the man's skull._

 _Quinn was horrified and mesmerized. She shouldn't be watching this. She shouldn't be watching Jerome bludgeon a man with a stone. She shouldn't be so entranced by the blood splashing up against his face. She should have moved to stop him when he approached her, drawing a tiny diamond on her cheek in the man's blood and once again singing, "Hardly Harley Quinnzelle, a harlequin like no one else…"_

The bus came to a sudden stop, causing the sleeping Quinn to jolt forwards, bouncing her face off of the seat in front of her. Lousy, stinkin', no good driver. She ought to bash _his_ face off the steering wheel and see how he liked it. Quinn stood up, grabbed her backpack from the overhead compartment and started towards the front of the bus. She'd heard about what a shit-hole Gotham was, but she'd never been before. Thanks to the stories, she wasn't surprised that she was the only person getting off at this stop.

"God bless, ma'am," The driver tipped his hat as the twenty-one year old started down the bus steps.

"Hardly," Quinn scoffed over her shoulder.

The sky was gray and the air was chilly. Her thin red zip-up wasn't enough to keep the cold out. Her black jeans were ripped at both of the knees and didn't help much either. She reached up, as the bus began to pull away from the curb, and pulled the hair tie out of her hair. Her brown tresses fell down in curls over her shoulders. At least her ears would be warm.

"Excuse me, mister, but do you know where—" Quinn tried to stop a stranger passing by to look for directions. The man didn't hesitate for a second. The next person she tried had no problem using their shoulder to push her out of the way. Apparently she was on her own.

It took her nearly an hour to finally wander across the large stone structure with the words "Gotham City Police Department" hanging above several sets of doors. Her black and white backpack with its diamond pattern slung over her shoulder, Quinn took the stairs of the GCPD two at a time. Despite all of the stories she had heard, she didn't realize she was going to face the same attitudes in the police station as she did on the street.

"Sir, I just have a question—" The first man brushed her off. "Hey, lady, do you know—" A woman walked away without giving her a second glance. After four or five attempts, Quinn lost her cool. Standing in the center of the police station she looked up to the ceiling and screamed, "I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO JEROME VALESKA AND I NEED TO KNOW RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"

The entire room fell silent, looking at the crazy girl in the center of it. From the top of a short flight of stairs, a young, handsome man was the first to make a move towards her. He approached her with his hand out, but his brow furrowed.

"Um…Detective Jim Gordon, can I help you?"

Quinn knocked the hand away, glaring up at this Detective with squinting, blue eyes. "Jerome Valeska. The papers said…things, about him. I wanna know where he is. I wanna see him."

There was something in this man's face—in Jim Gordon's face—that told her the thing she hadn't let herself imagine was possible. That Jerome was dead. But there was something else there, too. There was something a lot more frightening.


	2. Chapter 2

"His body is missing. Well, I guess technically it was missing before, but now it's _really_ missing." Detective Jim Gordon said to Quinn when she was seated at his desk.

"How is that possible?" Quinn asked. She knew she was starting to cry, even though she felt nothing but numb. "How did his body go missing _two times?!"_

Jim sighed, running a hand over his face. "We're looking into it."

"You're lookin' into it?" Quinn gave an unamused laugh and stood from the seat she had just a second ago lowered herself into. "Great. Fan-friggin'-tastic. I'm sure it's top priority." She shifted the weight of her backpack on her shoulder and started away, making it to the bottom of the steps inside the building before Jim called after her.

"It's top priority to me, Miss…"

"Lloyd. Quinn Lloyd."

"Miss. Lloyd? Like the Lloyds from—"

"The circus. Wow, you really are a friggin' detective, aren't you?"

With that, she took her leave. The tears were coming full force now. She never should have left him. She never should have up and abandoned everything she knew. But at the time it didn't feel like she had a choice.

 _Jerome hardly seemed to acknowledge she had spoken. He waltzed his way over to his mother's record player. It was a clumsy dance, graceless and mocking. He bent down to look at the disc on the player and nodded before beginning to hum "When I Fall in Love" and moving the needle into place. He knew exactly where on the disc that particular song lay, and that wasn't any surprise to Quinn. He'd hummed it so many times since the day with the rock. He'd hummed it as the ring master and his mother drug the body a hundred yards from the circus' set up and buried it. He had not been punished, because the man had been a spectator and not one of our own, but everyone was skeptical of letting him out of his trailer for many weeks after. Nat King Cole's voice washed over me, setting off a fire in the pit of my stomach._

 _"Did you hear me?" I don't mean to yell, but I do. "I'm leaving! I'm going! This is me saying goodbye, do you even care?"_

 _"…in a restless world, like this is…love is ended before it's begun. And too many moonlight kisses, seem to cool in the warmth of the sun…" Jerome sang along with Nat's soulful voice, not even glancing in my direction as he continued to waltz with himself. That is, until Quinn stood up and started for the front door. Then he grabbed her by the arm, harder than she think he even intended to. But then again, what did she know? She was sixteen now, not the dumb little eight year old she'd been the first year she knew him, and yet somehow she didn't feel like she knew him any better at all. "When I give my heart, it will be completely…" Nat goes on without Jerome._

 _Quinn tried to yank her arm away, but Jerome didn't let loose. If anything he held tighter, his nails dinging into her skin through her red long-sleeved shirt. Jerome was smiling at her. He was always smiling around her now, and it might have made her smile too if it wasn't so bone chilling._

 _"Hardly Harley Quinnzelle, a harlequin and hussy as well?" He sang his little tune and then laughed._

 _"Ha, ha. Very funny. I'm no hussy. I'm no good at this. The crowds don't even like me. I want to be something else. I want to_ _ **do**_ _something else." Quinn tried to explain herself._

 _Jerome didn't even appear to be listening. His hand moved from her bicep, down to her wrist without ever loosening his grip. She could feel the scratches from his nails as he held onto her wrist. Her heart jumped into her throat when he pulled the switchblade from his pocket._

 _"Whoa there, Puddin'. I'm not playin' around, you better put that away..."_

 _"Hardly Harley…" he pressed the blade to the skin on the back of her hand, breaking the flesh. He pressed again, lower and at an opposite angle. "Quinzelle." He moved the blade again, and even though it hurt, she couldn't bring herself to move. She knew what he was doing. "A diamond shaped in the sands of hell." He pressed the blade to her hand one more time, finishing the diamond shape he was carving into her hand._

 _Jerome let go and Quinn pulled her hand close to her chest, looking down at the dark red slowly leaking from the wounds. It was sweet, in his own way, she decided in her head. He could have split her throat. He could have cut off her ears like she'd seen him do so many times to the rats that tended to hitch a ride in his kitchen from circus-site to circus-site. But he didn't. That was affection. That was his way of loving her. He didn't kill her right there. God knew he was capable._

 _He would never hold her. He would never kiss her, like she dreamt about all of those times. But he wouldn't kill her. That was something she could always count on._

 _She left his trailer then, as he lifted to the needle on the record player to move it back and replay the song. "When I fall in love…it will be forever…"_

Quinn wandered the streets of Gotham for another hour. What had her plan been? She hardly had enough money for a couple of nights in a motel, let alone enough to last her until she could figure out what had been done with Jerome's body. But her financial strain wasn't going to stop her from easing her mind with a drink or five. The place with the purple, umbrella shaped light stood out to her the most of the street she'd found herself on. So she went in. A tiny girl in a sparkly white dress stood on stage, singing old blues numbers to the crowd. While most people were seated in booths, Quinn felt she best fit in at the bar. The empty bar.

"What can I get ya?" The bartender leaned against the counter. He was cute. A little older than her, but with nice, deep brown eyes.

"Vodka tonic. Three limes." Quinn didn't hesitate and quickly pulled her eyes away from the attractive man. She turned her attention to the stage. The performer was okay. Nothing special. But okay.

Quinn had wanted to be a lounge singer. That had been the plan all along. There wasn't a huge space in the circus for singers, but Quinn had a voice on her. At least, she thought so. She couldn't figure out why she'd spent the last five years of her life waiting tables in lounges just like this one, envying whatever floozy the owner had decided to toss on stage that night.

The first vodka went down like water. The second one like air. Then she stopped counting and she drank faster. It's a nasty devil, alcohol. It makes you crave and it makes you forget, until you completely forget what exactly it was that you were craving in the first place, and eventually you decide that you must have simply been craving more alcohol. And then, about five minutes before the place closes, you decide to rest your head on the bar, and don't even realize you're losing consciousness until you're already passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

" _When you're smiling…when you're smiling…"_

Quinn didn't open her eyes immediately when she woke up. No, first she tried to piece together what had happened the night before. The last thing she remembered was sitting at the bar and watching the lounge singer, wasn't it?

No, no it wasn't. There was something else there, buried in the back corner of her mind. There was a brief second she could recall. A moment that was growing more unclear by the second. The inside of a car. A face. Thin black hair. A song that she hummed along to.

" _When you're smiling…when you're smiling…"_

Quinn's head throbbed when she sat up. She wasn't at a bar anymore. Instead, she lay inside of a studio apartment, in the center of a king-sized bed. The alarm clock on the bedside table told her that it was a little past six in the morning. The apartment felt dark, even though the sun had almost finished rising outside. About ten feet from the bed was a dining room table, and directly across the room from that was a fridge. Standing between the two was a man. His smile was thin, and tight. A pair of glasses rested on his nose, and his body was clad in a suit and tie.

"Good morning." His voice was far too peppy for Quinn's liking at the moment.

"Who are you?" Quinn asked, swinging her legs out of bed. "Where am I?"

Confidently, the man strode over to the bed. It only took a few steps with his long legs. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pressed her back down into sitting position when she tried to stand. This was almost okay with Quinn, because her stomach felt bloated and nauseous.

"My name is Ed Nygma. You're in my bed, in my apartment."

"Oh friggin' Christ, did we—"

"No! No, no, no, no, no. Mr. Cobblepot seems to think you remind him of his mother, he would extremely unhappy if… _anything_ were to happen. I slept on the couch. You were passed out again by the time you got here anyway."

"I passed out?" Quinn buried her face in her hands. Maybe she had overdone a little, especially considering she'd been too nervous to eat before she left for Gotham and too upset once she'd finally gotten the information she was looking for.

"I fill minds with euphoria, but also pain. I give you invincibility while I slowly kill you. What am I?" Ed's smile had broadened to show his teeth, creasing his face.

"I give up. I dunno." Quinn doesn't even try to play along with his little game.

Ed bounces on the balls of his feet as he replies, "Alcohol." He then points a finger at her in a quick, stabbing motion, "Which _you_ had too much of last night. And fell asleep at Mr. Cobblepot's lounge. He said your hair looks like his mother's, so he wanted to take you home. I do not understand it, but he asked me to keep you here. I, however, have to go to work. He should be back shortly." All of Ed's sentences were spoken quickly, but altogether it was choppy, as if he was consciously breathing when he came to each period at the end of his sentence. Ed began to back away, towards the sliding front-door. "Rest some more. There is food in the refrigerator. The spicy mustard is on the top shelf, if you happen to be wondering. And…uh…Don't open the freezer." With that he was gone, sliding the metal door closed behind him.

Quinn closed her eyes and breathed, willing herself not to puke when she stood up. She crossed to the counter beside the fridge and began opening cupboards, in search of a glass to fill with water. She found one, and filled it on the sink that sat on the other side of the fridge. She eyed the top handle on the refrigerator as she sipped the water. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was until just then as she finished the rest of the water, then put the glass into the sink.

The only stipulations Ed had set were for her to get some rest, and that she don't open the freezer. She didn't feel like resting. She felt like leaving. But first she wanted to know what was wrong with the freezer. She placed her hand on the handle and took a deep breath before yanking it open.

Quinn gasped, her mouth remaining open and gaping, but she couldn't bring herself to make a sound. Blue eyes wide open, staring at her was a human head. Red stained the ice that had built up on the bottom of the freezer and short brown hair on the man was frozen together in clumps. That's not what had her heart racing though. She had seen gore before. It was familiar. What brought a chill to her spine was _how_ familiar this was. Because the man's face was mutilated in a way she'd only ever seen done to mice and stray cats before then. Someone had used a knife to extend the corner of each side of the man's mouth up to his ears. If the head were not frozen the skin would have sagged down loosely, revealing his teeth on either side all the way back to his mouth. But someone had gone to the trouble of making sure his face froze in the permanent smile it was intended to be.

Quinn threw the freezer door closed as she took a stumbling step backwards and tried to catch her breath. Hand pressed to her chest, Quinn managed to finally get air to return to her lungs. Her head was swimming. She should be horrified but there was something else mixed in with her emotions. Something nobody else would feel at the sight of decapitated, mutilated man. She felt a hint of excitement swirling in the midst of the sickness that threatened to make her puke up the water she had just drank. The song she could just barely remember humming was suddenly hilariously ironic and she let out the tiniest of giggle as the tears brimmed in her eyes.

"When you're smiling…" she sang softly to herself and then giggled again. Jim Gordon had said Jerome was not only dead, but twice-missing. However, this was all so familiar that the little voice in the back of her head—her intuition, maybe—told her Jim Gordon was a fool.

When she closed her eyes she could almost see Jerome sitting out in a field with her when they were eleven. Quinn had been weaving a crown out of dandelions while Jerome slowly removed his hands from around of a stray cat they had found wandering around Jerome's trailer. It hadn't moved. It was dead. Jerome then pulled out the switchblade he had snatched from the knife-throwers' trailer while they were doing a show. With his left hand he held open the fat, grey cat's mouth, and with the other he hooked its cheek. With one motion, he sliced the cat's cheek as far back as its jaw would let him. Then his hands switched jobs, and he sliced the other cheek. He had held the cat up by its face, his fingers dripping with its blood as they held its face together. "Look, she's smiling!" He had gleamed and then began to roll with laughter as he dropped it to the ground. Quinn had laughed with him. It really did look like it was smiling, and she had loved seeing him so happy.

"Miss?"

Quinn gasped as she looked up, the sudden motion brought back the throbbing inside of her skull. She hadn't even heard the scraping of the metal door opening, she had been too enveloped in her own memories. Hovering over her was a tall, thin man. His black suit had been perfectly ironed and looked far too nice to just be wearing around in the early morning, especially the purple, checkered vest tucked away beneath the jacket. His face looked so familiar: pale, with a slightly large nose that seemed to point ever so slightly at the ground. And his hair—

It was him. The man from the car she could hardly remember. She recognized that thin, black hair. Quinn wiped away a tear she hadn't realized had slipped down her cheek, and quickly rose to her feet.

"What's your game, huh? Gonna chop off my head too?" Quinn asked, backing away towards the bed. For the first time she noticed her backpack leaning against the bedside table.

The man moved closer, but slowly, with a limp that made it look more like he was waddling than walking. Like he was some sort of animal. Quinn snatched up her bag and breezed past him. He whipped around and caught onto her arm. His thin fingers had a strong grip.

"I'm afraid I cannot let you leave. I'm not sure why Mr. Nygma has taken to keeping souvenirs in the freezer, but I have no reason to believe you won't go straight to the police. I'm afraid I'll have to detain you."

"Detain me?" Quinn chuckled. " _Detain_ me? Sounds more like a kidnappin' to me." She set down her backpack, leaning down and yanking up its zipper and sliding her hand inside. She felt the handle immediately. She always kept it on top.

"I ask you please not to make this difficult, miss. I only meant to help. It's extremely unfortunate things have played out as they have. I am very sorry that—" The man didn't get to finish his sentence before Quinn pulled the small, rubber mallet she always cared with her from the back pack and swung it into the back of the man's left knee. The leg gave way and he fell to the floor, giving Quinn the chance she needed to snatch up her backpack, yank open the metal sliding door, and sprint down the hallway to the staircase.


	4. Chapter 4

Quinn didn't pause when she reached the outside of the apartment building, even if there was no way the black-haired man could catch up with her. Not with one leg hurt and one leg that already made him limp. She ran for an entire block before turning to cut through an ally. She wasn't nimble enough to make it in the circus, but she was nimble enough to scurry up the fence in that ally and toss herself over it to the other side. Her knees gave way when she hit the ground, and she fell onto her side. Quinn rolled two or three times before coming to a stop. She never had been good at sticking landings. The rips in the knees of her jeans proved to be an unwise fashion choice as both knees started to leak red. She dusted away the dirt and gravel as best she could before standing up, and slowing her pace to a jog.

Quinn was relieved to find that the men hadn't robbed her, which almost made her wonder if they'd actually been trying to help her. She shook her head. It didn't matter. They were obviously psychopaths either way she spun it.

 _But Jerome was kind of a psychopath_ , the thought slipped through her mind before she could stop it. Quinn was instantly angry at herself. How dare she think about him like that? He was unique and misunderstood. And even if he was a little bit loony he was her loon.

Momentarily, Quinn considered going to the police about the decapitated head in Ed's freezer. But then she remembered how cold and rude everyone had been to her there. Well, everyone except for Jim Gordon, but he was the one that broke the news to her about her friend, and even if whatever happened to Jerome wasn't his fault he was the only person she had to associate the bad feeling inside of her with. Except for Jerome's mother that is, but it didn't feel satisfying to give her the blame. The rotten bitch was dead too, after all.

Quinn didn't feel comfortable staying in town. Who knew where one of those psychos might be looking for her? She chanced taking the time to seek out a liquor store to get herself a bottle of whiskey, and then chanced the time stopping at a convenience store for a small bottle of cola and a bag of chips, but wasted no time other than that. The bus had passed a port on the way into town. Once she'd finally found the bus stop she'd been dropped off at, she knew which direction to go in. Gotham was a very large city though. By the time she finally reached the port the sun was getting ready to set. It must have been nearly five o'clock.

The air out by the port was much more bitter than the air inside the city. Quinn shivered and wished she'd had more room in her backpack to fit her coat. But she hadn't and had decided to leave it behind. The girl made her way along one of the docks, sitting cross legged on the edge to watch the sun set over the water. She uncapped her whiskey and took a swig, chasing it with a mouthful of cola. The alcohol started to warm her the second it splashed against the bottom of her empty stomach. She then opened the chips and started to eat, hoping not to have a repeat of the previous night but also wanting nothing more than to be squeezed by the warm hand of inebriation.

Halfway through the bag of chips and an eighth of the way through her bottle of whiskey, Quinn heard a voice behind her.

"Well, well, well, whadda we got here?"

Quinn looked behind her to see a scraggly looking boy, no older then seventeen, standing a few feet away from her with his arms crossed. A small smirk creased his face, right above his pointed chin and right below hus crooked nose. She hadn't even heard him coming up behind her. She decided to ignore him, but he didn't seem interested in going away.

"I'mma take that bottle of whiskey, if you don't mind," the boy sneered, stepping closer.

"Ain't it past your bedtime, sweetheart?" Quinn remained unamused. She tried to shrug off her backpack as quick as she could to get to her mallet, but she wasn't quick enough. The thug was close enough to grab onto the top of the bag and yank it upwards. "Agh!" Quinn cried out as the bag yanked at her arms.

That moment of weakness gave him a chance to slide it off of her. Quick to act, Quinn fell onto her back, flipping her legs over her head like she used to do when she was younger. Only this time, she straightened her legs, meaning to kick the thug before she completed her roll. She misjudged where he was standing, however, and just barely nicked his chin. This threw her off balance, and her roll became diagonal, and she didn't land on her knees. She landed on her side, hurting her arms. She couldn't seem to catch a damn break in this godforsaken town.

The kick was hardly painful, but it still pissed the boy off. He dropped the bag, taking the four steps he needed to reach Quinn's landing place and not hesitating to give her a kick of his own to the stomach.

"Think you're tough shit, huh?" he asked, this kick hit her shoulder. "Pathetic little bitch!" He kicked her again. Quinn couldn't bring herself to roll away. She couldn't even breathe. All she could do was lift her arms to shield her face, just in case he decided to get really vicious.

The thug didn't however. He gave a nasty cackle and she could hear the wood creak as he walked now. If only she'd had her ear to the dock earlier, when he first showed up. Peeking past her arms, Quinn watched him rummage through her bag. It would be better to stay down, she decided. She never was good at defending herself. Jerome had always done that for her.

 _When Quinn was fifteen, her mother decided she might have better luck in the act as a clown, so her acrobatics would be acceptable even if they were clumsy and ineloquent. She still wanted Quinn in the family act though. She'd decided that Quinn would run around acting a fool, interacting with the rest of the Lloyds as they summersaulted around her, taunting her. Basically, if she couldn't make the auience love Quinn, she was going to make the audience laugh at her._

 _Quinn's mother stitched her together something more edgy than the traditional red-nosed clowns: a long sleeved unitard, half black and half red. It was skin tight, hugging every inch of Quinn's body like a glove. ("Drop a few pounds and you could turn some heads" Miss. Lloyd had told her teenage daughter). She put Quinn's hair in pigtails and painted her face white, with exaggerated red lipstick on her mouth and black eyeshadow on her eyelids._

 _"Look at that. You're a regular old court jester. They used to call 'em—"_

 _"Harlequins," Quinn had finished the sentence. "I don't want to be a harlequin."_

 _"You sure don't mind it when Jerome calls you that," her mother had said. She didn"t sound like she was teasing, she sounded honestly bitter, which further infuriated Quinn._

" _Hardly."_

" _What's that weird little thing he says? Hardly Harley Quinzelle? We could change your name. Just call you Harley Quinn. People would eat that up."_

" _Hardly." With that, Quinn had run out of their trailer, over to Jerome's._

 _Just as she was about to knock, the door opened. It was a man. He was drunk. No surprises there._

" _Um…is Jerome inside?" Quinn had asked unsurely. Normally he'd be outside if his mother had someone over. The man's eyes scanned over her costume and it made her feel gross. Her breasts were large for her age, and his eyes lingered._

" _The kid? Yeah, yeah, sure." He stepped aside to allow her in. "I'm Roger, by the way. What's your name, pretty girl?_

 _Quinn hesitated, but stepped inside. She jumped as he closed the door behind her a bit too hard. Her throat was tight. He made her uneasy. She swallowed then said, "Um...Harley." It felt more appropriate to lie to this unnerving man named Roger._

" _Cute. Suits you," he grinned at her, his arm sliding around her waist and his hand resting on her hip. "Look, the old lady headed out for another bottle. You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"_

" _Hardly," Quinn declined and tried to snake out of his grasp. She could smell the alcohol on him from that close._

 _Roger was adamant. He pulled her back to him. He had to be at least twice her age and more than twice her size, and this time she couldn't pull free._

" _Let go!" Quinn demanded, but Roger only chucked. So she did the only thing she could think of. She drew her right hand forward, formed a fist, and brought it down as hard as she could between his legs._

 _Roger let out a howl, but the angle hadn't been quite right to cause enough pain to stop him from chasing her towards the door that stood in front of Jerome's room. He caught her by one of the damn pigtails her mother had put in her hair and Quinn stumbled backwards, falling to the floor. That's when Jerome's bedroom door opened. His eyebrows were furrowed together. One wisp of red hair fell down over his forehead and he looked like a child, innocently confused._

" _Sir…what are you doing?" Jerome asked Roger, tilting his head to the side._

" _We're just playing a game 'til your mom gets back, kid. Don't worry, you can play with her next." Roger gave one of Quinn's pigtails a hard tug and she whimpered._

" _Oh. That's what I thought," Jerome said, matter-of-factly. He stepped back into his room and disappeared._

 _Quinn couldn't believe it. She wasn't even scared anymore, just heartbroken. She finally started to cry as she was dragged backwards, towards the couch. He pushed her down onto it first, then stood admiring her. Just as he was about to lean down towards Quinn, she saw Jerome jump onto Roger's back. There was an orange extension cord in his hand that he struggled only for a second to wrap around Roger's neck. Jerome, with his legs secured tightly around Roger's torso, pulled on each end of the cord with all his might. Roger was gasping, trying to get air and get Jerome off of his back at the same time. He staggered, trying to slam the boy into a wall, but even that didn't work._

 _Quinn had never seen Jerome's face like this. It was dark, as if shadows had been created by nothing just to fall over it. He wasn't smiling, either. His look furious, with his teeth bared in a snarl. He looked deadly, even._

 _After two minutes of struggling, Jerome's hands were turning beat red from pulling as hard as he could on the cord, and Roger finally collapsed onto his knees, mouth gaping. Jerome didn't stop however. Quinn sat on the couch, her tears dried away as she counted the seconds, getting to sixty and then starting back at one again. She counted eight entire minutes before Jerome finally climbed off of Roger, who hadn't been moving for a long time._

 _The redheaded boy shook the cramps out of his hands as he walked over to Quinn on the couch. His hand reached down and stroked one of her pigtails. She could see the fire in his eyes slowly starting to die down._

" _Thank you, Puddin'," Quinn said, her lower lip trembling._

 _Jerome's hand left her hair and moved to her face, grabbing her chin so hard she thought it might shatter. But she didn't cry out, or get angry or anything._

" _Only I get to hurt you," he said, and then gave her that grin of his as he released her._

 _She was his, that's what she knew he was saying. The pain in her jaw sent sparks to her heart. That was the night. The night when a villainous young man became a hero to someone, and Quinn Lloyd fell in love with Jerome Valeska._


End file.
